


She Belongs to Fairy Tales

by angelette



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2012 [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelette/pseuds/angelette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe a new kind of fairy tale will be born from their tragedy, a twisted and sick bedtime story of a fading world.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Belongs to Fairy Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Written after 1x09
> 
> This is what happens if I rewatch Once Upon a Time, while trying to write a Revolution fanfic. But I regret nothing.

**I. White as Snow**

 

_“I need you to open your eyes.”_

 

Charlie Matheson is a reckless, naïve and immature girl, who wants to save the whole damn world. Miles knows the type, the one who has something valuable and hell-bent on fighting for it, he knows because back in the time he broke a few of them, the whole system of the training camps are based on his instructions and ideas. It’s always been like that, he’s the villain of the story, the one who corrupts everything, and he had time to accept that, he became a recluse, and didn’t give a damn about anything; he just sat back and watched the world burn to ashes, with the knowledge that he was the one who started the fire.

 

But right now Charlie isn’t overly optimistic about everything, she’s not trying to save some mook’s life, she’s not arguing with him, and she’s definitely not looking at him like he was the answer to everything.

 

Miles hates that when she’s staring at him confident and trusting, it puts too much responsibility on him, and he swore off taking care of people a long time ago. But he would like that now; he’d literally give up everything just for a glimpse of her blue eyes and warm smile. But all he sees is the blood, vivid red on her forehead, in contrast to her pallid skin. It’s matted her hair, and though he knows head wounds supposed to be bleeding pretty hard, it’s too much for him, and the claws of panic, which he haven’t really felt nowadays, start to rip into him so viciously, his breath catches.

 

Charlie lays motionless on the concrete floor, and he, the feared and detested Miles Matheson crumbles beside her, like an empty shell, deprived from what held him together. He’s a mess, he knows it, it doesn’t matter that Nora and Aaron see him like this, with tears in his eyes – for God’s sake, the famous Miles Matheson is so broken, he started crying, and everyone knows weeping and whining don’t solve anything –, stuttering and begging to Charlie to come back, because he _needs_ her.

 

He doesn’t really remember when she became like oxygen, or someone to hold on to, something primary essential, but she’s the one who gives him hope and a chance at redemption with the ridiculous quest for her brother. Even when she stepped into the bar, all in her determined glory, something caught his eyes about her. He’d already seen the fire burning inside her back then; deny as he might, he didn’t go with her and her little crew because she’s family. The real reason was that her spark, her borderline foolish bravery compelled him to move out from his voluntary exile. The fierce and strong women always fascinated him, and he couldn’t resist her and the promise of adrenaline, thrill and adventure.

 

He used to think that settling in a no name bar would be enough distraction from his restlessness and the alcohol would wash away the dark memories, which were eating him alive. But that was wishful thinking; he couldn’t hide forever in Chicago, one can’t run forever from his problems, no matter how badly he wishes he could. But when Charlie walked into his life, he felt a slight shift; he finally acknowledged the inevitable and ugly truth: this, what he was doing, wasn’t living, just existing. And he missed being alive, even though he couldn’t have hope in this upside-down, grotesque world, because such a light and blissful thing didn’t last long in the ocean of violence, self-preservation and selfishness. It’s every man for himself now. And then Charlie brought something akin to that bright feeling with her naïve optimism: she was the small, but beautiful radiance in the darkness.

 

But now, she’s unnaturally white as snow because of the blood loss. All Miles can think about how she looks like Snow White from the old time’s child tales, lifeless and pale, a princess waiting for her prince, that wouldn’t come, not in this world, because fairy tales and miracles don’t belong here. Though Miles hopes against all hope that Charlie would come back to him, Aaron and Nora are long gone, giving up, resigning to the idea of Charlie being dead or damaged beyond saving.

 

Miles waits and begs; in his mind the image of a glass coffin is persistent, foreshadowing the likely outcome. But even if that story has a happy ending, Charlie’s poisoned apple is a harsh and cruel one. She literally took a bullet for him, even if she was just grazed by it, the guilt eats away at him, and all he can see as Charlie falls and the sickening thud plays over and over in his head on an endless repeat, vying with all the other memories of her.

 

**II. Red as Blood**

 

_“You look terrible.”_

_“It’s part of the charm.”_

 

Charlie is the only one who would notice this, and say something about it. It’s obvious to Nora that her rebel friends interrogated him, but nor her, nor Aaron really feel sorry for him. And why should they? He is very much the monster, the damned Big Bad Wolf, who once wanted the whole world, and then when he got it, he tore it apart. And even when he saw everything falling apart, he couldn’t mend it, couldn’t kill his best friend. He still isn’t sure which outcome would make him the bigger villain, but a villain he is nonetheless, who doesn’t deserve any kind words.

 

He takes every punch, wound, cut and bruise as his rightful punishment, he relishes in it. So when Charlie comes and says she doesn’t believe he’s a monster or garbage, but instead she tries to understand him, she asks _him_ , it surprises him. No one ever bothered with that, and it catches him off guard. Maybe that was the moment when Charlie started to really fascinate him. And no matter what he does he can’t get her out of his head.

 

And she doesn’t ask questions to extort information – which would be the logical and sane thing to do in this world –, but she’s genuinely interested. She’s seeing him as a human being and cares for him, even trusts him, both a foolish thing to do, because he’s the predator, the killer, everything she should be afraid of.

 

She lets him in, and he can’t help but let her in. He’s like a statue inside, cold and unfeeling, he buried his emotions for his own safety, but Charlie finds the cracks in the façade and the stone starts to come apart crumbling.

 

Charlie’s too caring, she still believes – hell, even lives in – the old world, where faith, kindness and love could get you somewhere. She shines fiercely in this bleak apocalyptic landscape of hate, power and violence. She wears her heart on her sleeve so carelessly, all it will take is a man with a dangerous, wolf like smile and sharp words, and she will find it shattered and smeared against a wall, dripping the red blood of her broken dreams.

 

He fears he will be that man.

 

**III. Gray as Ashes**

 

_“You can’t do it.”_

_“What?”_

_“Fall apart. […] I’m counting on you.”_

 

Charlie doesn’t notice it, but she said out loud the frightening truth. He’s falling apart, his own demons tearing him to shreds; he’s not the unfeeling, uncaring man he built himself to be to survive his haunting past.

 

For God’s sake, he hallucinated just now about Bass, about his forgiveness, which he oh, so craves, but can never have, because that would be an illusion. A wish granted by some greater power, only to be turned into a rotten and putrid thing. Because even if Bass would forgive him, he’s too far gone, too damaged to be stopped. Even if he talked about hopes of a greater world, he would think of power and control, things he obsesses about.

 

And Miles understands it, because he was like that not so long ago. He needed something to hold on to, but the inviting, dazzling images of a better future soon turned into a twisted, cruel nightmare. Miles understand the darkness that threatens to take over everything, that small, alluring voice whispering its lies about knowing better, about the people needing someone strong. It’s so easy to fall under the spell of delusion and self-righteousness. In the short run it gives you the purpose you need, a goal to work toward, a reason not to give up just yet.

 

But Miles starts to realize maybe, just maybe, in the long run people need something more, maybe the answer isn’t in the coldness of a sword’s blade, the bitterness of the gunpowder, and the coppery scent of blood, but in a warm smile, a tender touch and a glint in bright blue eyes.

 

He almost loses Charlie when she steps on a mine, and when the guilt and self-loathing hits him hard – because he shouldn’t have insisted on this path, he should have found another way in, and he should have known Bass would reinforce the entrance after his leave – he understands how much she means to him. Of course, he knew he cared for her, because she started to change him, but in this crucial moment, when he decides to stay with her, even if he dies, it sits before him in an undeniable way. It’s so much more than the family bond and the lure of an intriguing character.

 

She’s a vital part of him, one he intends to keep damn the consequences, because without her light, there is no Miles Matheson, and not just the kindhearted, nice Miles from before the Blackout, but the vicious soldier, too, would be absolutely lost. She’s the one holding him together, and as he watches her walking with tense muscles, all determination and strength, he wonders how she can be so radiant and hopeful in the midst of all these gray ashes of a dying and decaying world.

 

It’s ironic that she is the strong one, and he is the hollow and fragile one, like a glass statue. He fears he can break any moment, shattering to a million pieces yet again, and there won’t be any gluing back together. He can only wish that she doesn’t cut herself when she’ll try to put him back together. It really doesn’t seem fair to give so much to one person, only to be left with a handful of sharp jagged slivers of glass that used to be a whole and normal human being.

 

**IV. Once Upon a Time**

 

_“You saved me.”_

 

Miles calls out her name until his throat is raw, and though it feels like a prayer, and starts bargaining with whatever greater power that might exist, it doesn’t change a thing. He feels himself crack and he’s close to admit defeat.

 

“I need you…” He trails off, he doesn’t cover his true meaning with false half sentences. He gets it out in the open, plain and simple, and hopes it would be enough. For if the universe plays a cruel game with him, dangling hope before him, only to rip it away, maybe he can satisfy those powers with the admission of his ultimate weakness.

 

His hands rest on her cheek and it feels warm, she’s still breathing, but who knows how long. She looks like someone who’s sleeping, and he can still reassure himself with that. _Charlie would be waking up anytime soon._ Because she isn’t hurt, because she isn’t dead, not because of him, and she just doesn’t supposed to die. Not in his arms.

 

Miles feels the last morsel of his resolve gone, and he does what he wanted for a time now: Leans forward, and gently brushes his lips against hers. He imagines he breathes his life into her, because he would gladly give that up for her.

 

“Please, Charlie,” he whispers against her mouth, all of his desperation pouring into the words.

 

And she miraculously, magically gasps, and opens her eyes. He’s so relieved, he doesn’t even notice how close he is to her – and she’s like a magnet, always drawing him closer, he’s always there beside her –, how easily it could be seen as something awfully wrong, even if he can claim otherwise in this situation. But his mind is preoccupied with the fact that she’s alive, he has to feel her warmth, her soft skin, he has to see her bright blue eyes, her weak smile. (And yes, he very keenly feels the urge to taste her mouth, and not just for a brief second.)

 

After a few moments of thankful smiles, Miles pulls away, trying to get his usual composure back, and mostly succeeding.

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answers, and tries to sit up, but flinches, her face contorting with agony.

 

“You should lie back down,” he suggests, and places a hand on her arm.

 

They touched many times in the past, but now it’s different. There’s a slight shift now, and Miles doesn’t know if it’s only him, because he finally realized how much he needs her, or if Charlie, too, feels the change. Her eyes reflect confusion, and he can’t decide whether it’s because of her head trauma or something else.

 

“You saved me,” she states, with a small, affectionate smile, and the puzzlement fades away from her features, as if seeing him can anchor her to this world. “Thank you.”

 

There’s a moment of acknowledgement, a deep understanding that this situation could have ended with sorrow and loss. And this near death experience changes their relationship as much as Maggie’s departure and Charlie’s kidnapping. It’s always like this: his carefully bottled up emotions spill out when the barrier is broken by violence aimed at her. It’s so alien to him, to be so connected to someone, he feels sometimes he’s a puppet and she’s the one who unwittingly moves his strings.

 

“You know, I’m quite capable of saving myself,” she tries to diffuse the tension between them, as she sits up more slowly, back against the wall. “I’m not a damsel in distress.”

 

“Well, the bullet begs to differ,” he counters, and falls back to his old routine, his mask of sarcasm slips back into place. He’s once again the stoic, I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-anything Miles Matheson.

 

Charlie, as stubborn as she is, starts to get up, but doesn’t get far, and wobbles. Miles is there to catch her, and it’s so cliché, he almost laughs out loud, but ironically it’s the epitome of their relationship: one of them always saves the other. And as Maggie said, he was the one who needed saving the most.

 

Before Miles could put her down, before he’ll do anything stupid again, one he can’t explain away, Charlie is the one who does it. She grips the lapels of his coat with so much force her knuckles turn white, it’s like she’s afraid he isn’t real, or would vanish any minute. Then she looks up, with her bright blue eyes, and so many conflicting emotions runs trough them, he can’t figure it all out. But it doesn’t matter, not anymore, when Charlie kisses him. All he feels is her warmth, radiating from her small, delicate body, the soft touch of her mouth against his, and the taste of her, tinged with the dirt from underground, but still sweet. It feels like nothing ever before, and he can almost imagine his broken pieces of humanity mending together. The kiss feels like sunshine on a lazy day, the lightness of a careless laughter, and the warm, dizzying wash of alcohol. It’s intoxicating, it feels more than good, but he knows, that it’s a terribly wrong thing to do.

 

Images of his brother keep flashing before his eyes, ruining this unbelievably perfect moment, and Miles has to pull away. Oh, he doesn’t push away Charlie; he can’t ever do that, even if it’s the right thing to do. He needs her, and he’s too selfish to give this up.

 

They don’t talk about what happened between them, as Miles helps Charlie to Aaron and Nora and their little makeshift camp. But their glances, touches and smiles hold a new meaning that wasn’t there before, not this openly. And while Aaron and Nora are happily fuss over Charlie, Miles fights with his darker thoughts, which are trying to take away that little bliss he’s felt in a long time.

 

It’s definitely not healthy what he has with Charlie, and he doesn’t even dare to think about how they could ever make it work like a normal relationship, because even if they survive what comes next, Charlie has people in her life she wouldn’t abandon, and they sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate whatever this _need_ is. (He doesn’t dare to think the word ‘love,’ not even in his deepest thoughts.)

 

And Charlie may be a reckless and naïve girl, who wants to save the whole damn world, but with all of her dreams, hope and love she belongs to a fairy tale, not here in the cemetery of fragile things and broken people.

 

But in the end, Miles thinks bitterly, in the original stories, the sleeping princess was assaulted and used, the too caring girl was devoured – or worse – by the wolf, and in order to fit into the glass shoe girls did mutilate themselves. Miles hopes that in their twisted tale, Charlie wouldn’t get too damaged, but he knows deep down that there is no happy ending to their story, that in the end, they will die bloodily or suffer a much terrible fate. Maybe a new kind of fairy tale will be born from their tragedy, a twisted and sick bedtime story of a fading world.


End file.
